Discrimination at Home: The Human Side of Rural-to-Urban Migration
A closer look at the daily battles and quiet strength of one among the thousands of people who arrive in Dhaka each day from across Bangladesh in pursuit of dignity and a shot at a better life.
Migration is one of the most powerful forces shaping the world today, yet it is often reduced to statistics and political debate. Behind every migration story is a human being with dreams, struggles, and resilience. For the fifth edition of ImpactInk, Tasnia Khandaker, Manager of BacharLorai’s Humanitarian Aid Program, pens the first article in a special series that explores the importance of humanizing migrant experiences by showcasing personal narratives that transcend borders and celebrate shared humanity.
Rumana, with her husband and newborn, migrated to Dhaka city in 2016. While her son’s birth-year is etched into memory, she is not exactly sure about her own age. She strongly suspects, however, that she must be in her late twenties. This confidence is rooted in her very first memory of herself.
She remembers wearing toddler shorts on an election day that brought the Awami League, a Bangladeshi political party, a national electoral victory in 1996. Rumana does not share her age-theory with everyone; for those without the time to see her jump through mental hoops, her response is quick and definite. For them, she is in her mid-to-late 20s.
The same confusion follows her as she tries to recall when she got married. Instead of settling on a number this time, all Rumana says is that she was young. Far too young, perhaps.
Her marriage, she feels, was akin to a business contract. Her own parents were too desolate to feed her, so they married her off to a family that could, but on the condition that she earns it. Rumana spent hours cooking and cleaning for her in-laws’ entire family. She was also the primary care-giver for her mother-in-law who was bed-ridden with paralysis. This went on for a few years, until she was kicked out for not being obedient enough.
Before moving to Dhaka, Rumana’s entire life was spent in Mehendiganj, a small village-district in Barisal. Surrounded by rivers on all sides, boats and trawlers were the only way to reach her village. The area is acutely vulnerable to climate disasters like floods and cyclones, where unruly water currents eat away at people’s properties.
Thousands of families are threatened with homelessness every year, and run the risk of losing their houses again after rebuilding. Without effective measures and state-sponsored safety nets, the people of Mehendiganj are forced to witness the slow decay of their history, culture and livelihoods.
Rumana remembers the constant fear of loss that shadowed her. To escape mistreatment and overwhelming distress, she decided to take a leap of faith. About the life-altering decision she took eight years ago, Rumana said: “I was so worried about making ends meet in a completely new place. My heart was scared, but it was also equal parts hopeful. Hopeful that God may have written a better future for me [in Dhaka].”
She knew of a maternal aunt who lived in the city. Her only contact there. The day Rumana arrived with her small family in Alubdi, Mirpur, her relative had managed to get them a room for rent that same evening. Things move fast and often without notice in the informal settlements of Dhaka.
Functioning outside the purview of traditional governance, these settlements thrive on social contracts, blurring the lines of legality. Connections to basic services like electricity, water and gas are unregulated, with settlement dwellers having to pay extremely high rents. Rumana’s first room in Dhaka cost her BDT 3500 (CAD 42) monthly. To put this number into perspective, her current salary after almost a decade of city-living is only CAD 30 higher than her rent.
During her early days in Dhaka, she was desperately looking for opportunities to earn. Her first job was that of a kantha (traditional quilt) stitcher. The “office” that she worked out of had no ventilation, nor any fans. Each quilt took almost a month to make, earning her only BDT 300 (CAD 4) per piece. Later, Rumana moved on to working at a local food store.
She helped prepare ingredients, made food-pastes, and engaged in other forms of physical labour as required of her. From early mornings to late evenings, she toiled in the store’s kitchen every day to earn 4000 BDT (CAD 47) at the end of the month. Rumana still kept a lookout for better jobs, one where the physical toll was not as unsparing. After a while, she found a nearby family in need of a domestic worker, offering the same pay but with less hours of work. Rumana has since stuck to the role of a domestic helper.
In the absence of a formal employee agreement, safeguarding oneself from abuse in this line of work comes down to sheer luck, and so far, Rumana considers herself lucky. Her bosses have been kind, and she knows that is not a common experience for many in her profession. She dislikes the monotony of the work, however.
It is the same chopping and frying, and washing and cleaning across all the seasons of the year. Even during a heat wave, she must stand hours before a cooking stove, and even amid Dhaka’s chilling weeks of winter, her clothes get drenched from sweeping tiled floors.
Despite her regular struggles, Rumana is adamant about not returning to her village: “I don’t like Barisal. My family keeps getting into feuds and regular conflicts, I don’t like being in the midst of it. Houses keep being swept away because of eroding rivers, I don’t like seeing it.”
While her decision to migrate was in response to the impossible circumstances facing her and far from voluntary, a surface level inquiry might reach a different conclusion. Her aversion towards the home she left behind is not because Dhaka always delivers on her dream of a good life, but rather, it is because of the guarantee that in Barisal, a more horrible reality will inadvertently find her.
In Dhaka, the stark inequalities of society are as clear as day. Tall buildings and shiny cars of posh residential areas stand adjacent to the tinned huts and narrow alleyways of the settlements. Rumana has to show her ID several times at checkposts on her way to work. Eyed with suspicion, many in her community are harassed in the name of security. Indicating that settlement-dwellers do not enjoy equal or safe access to justice mechanisms, Rumana remarked: “Going to the police for help can invite even more trouble. It is better to stay silent.”
Behind layers of middle-men, the settlements are ruled over by some of Dhaka elites. Leveraging their political and social influence, they have reportedly extorted millions out of low-income households. Prolific in drug trade and other illegal businesses, the settlements are not the safe havens that migrants prayed for. Swearing allegiance to the local elites is oftentimes critical to people’s survival.
Regardless, migrants are consistently subject to discrimination. Rumana shares: “They [local residents of Dhaka] bad-mouth us. They call us ‘choura’ (a local slang reserved for migrants from Char areas). For crimes that they commit themselves, the blame tends to fall on migrant families. Even migrant landlords are not respected as much as their native counterparts.”
The most cited statistic on internal mobility suggests that over 2000 people come to Dhaka everyday. As the migrant population continues to surge, the disregard that the community faces threatens to worsen. The growing demand for housing is met with opportunist landlords hiking up rents at will. Failing to pay up can result in instant eviction.
Without institutional oversight, greed runs free in the settlements and the poorest pay the hardest costs. For instance, a single health emergency can push families deeper into poverty and debt cycles. Rumana’s husband contracted dengue last year, and his treatment cost around BDT 20,000 (CAD 235), paid through loans taken from a number of neighbours. They are still paying the loan back to this day.
Rumana does not harbour grand expectations from the government. She only wishes for greater recognition — of the rights of those living in these neglected informal spaces, of the contributions settlement-dwellers make to improve their own and others’ lives, and of the insecurity they collectively face when rumors of eviction storm their homes.
When asked if she would ever want the government to ban more people from coming in, in the hopes that there would be less competition over scarce resources in the settlements, Rumana replied: “Keeping all the food [and opportunities] for myself will not do. Everyone should get to eat [and earn].”
Tasnia Khandaker is Manager for Bacharlorai’s Humanitarian Aid Program under the Signature Initiative pillar. She is responsible for delivering one aid project quarterly to directly benefit Bangladeshis in need.
Impact Opportunities
Job Drop: The International Rescue Committee is hiring a Youth Development Manager in Ukhia, Bangladesh, to support youth programs, including vocational training, agricultural projects, and small business initiatives in Rohingya and host communities. Responsibilities include training partners, creating market connections, and implementing programs such as Learn to Earn and Learn to Lead. Applicants need five years of experience in youth programs, knowledge of vocational training, and a master’s degree in a relevant field. This role provides the opportunity to contribute directly to improving livelihoods in vulnerable communities.
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